Destiel One-Shots
by livin-in-my-head
Summary: A collection of Supernatural one-shots. All of them have elements of or are about Destiel. Contains both stories that used to be published on my profile and new stories.
1. The Argument

Dean sighed, casting a considering look at the mini fridge and deciding to hold off on grabbing a beer. He sat on one of the motel beds and stared out of the grimy window. Sam was following up on a possible lead with a woman who absolutely did not trust Dean. Maybe it was because she had caught him breaking into her house to search for clues, but regardless, she hated Dean and was obviously very attracted to Sam. Hence this idleness - Dean had to wait while his brother flirted some information out of the woman. Only then could they proceed with the case.

They knew exactly what they were hunting and how to kill it, or else Dean would do some research to occupy himself. As it was, he was considering reading over the page in his dad's journal yet again, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Standing, he stretched and started for the table on which the journal rested.

Before he could reach it, however, there was a sound like the slight whooshing of wind. Recognizing the sound, Dean couldn't help his heart lifting as he turned to face Castiel.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas. What brings you here?" Dean glanced out of the window behind him to keep from getting overwhelmed by the angel's intense gaze, a problem that he had faced far too often lately.

"The thing you're hunting. We need you to stop," Cas replied without any pretense.

"What?" Dean's brow furrowed. "Cas, I think Sam and I can handle a werewolf."

Cas sighed. "No, you don't understand. That thing _isn't_ a werewolf."

"What do you mean, it isn't a werewolf? It all lines up. We've done our research, Cas."

"And we thank you for that, but we'll take it from here."

"You can't just push us off of a case - "

"Yes, we can, and yes, we will. Please, back down."

Dean smiled sarcastically. "Not really my style."

Cas sighed. "We don't care, Dean. We need to take this case."

"I'm not handing over my job to a bunch of friggin' angels!" Dean thought for a moment. "Again." It had been so long since he had seen Cas, and now the man was here just to tell him to leave? This was his and Sammy's case, not Cas's. He had _missed_ the angel, a feeling which was obviously not mutual.

"Dean - "

"Leave, Cas."

Instead of the hurt puppy dog eyes that Dean had been expecting, Cas's gaze hardened. He moved toward Dean, and Dean felt his anger rising. On instinct, he swung a punch at the angel.

Bad move. Cas easily ducked out of the way and threw him across the room. Dean collided with the wall and fell onto one of the beds. Dizzy and disoriented, he staggered to his feet, ignoring the pounding headache beginning at the base of his skull.

 _What case is this important that you would attack a friend?_ a small part of him tried to reason, but Dean ignored it. He rushed Cas again, this time ducking his preliminary punch and going for his legs. The angel again avoided his attack.

Cas reached out and shoved Dean onto the bed. Within seconds, he was at the mercy of his friend, his arms pinned by one of Cas's hands above his head and the angel's weight pressing him down.

They were so close. Dean stared at Cas's dark eyes. Both men were breathing heavily from their scuffle.

"Please, Dean," Cas said in a low voice. "Just forget the case. Walk away."

"Make me," Dean growled, his heart rate increasing.

Cas lowered his face closer to his. Their foreheads pressed, breaths mingling. Not that Dean could really breathe. He wanted to blame it on the weight of the angel pressing into his chest, but he couldn't. Sooner or later, some part of him knew that he would have to face what he had been feeling for years.

When Cas moved closer, Dean half expected the man to kiss him. Instead, the angel's head swooped farther down and Dean felt his warm lips press against his collarbone. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. _Shit_. His self-control attempted to leave then and there, but he clung to it with all of his might.

Cas's kisses moved slowly up his neck. Dean let out a little breath, feeling like he had just finished running a marathon. He lay perfectly still, trying and failing to control his emotions.

Cas's lips lingered at his jawline. Dean opened his eyes and stared at the stained motel ceiling above him. Longing washed over him. He wanted, needed, to kiss Castiel _now_.

As if he had heard Dean's prayers (and perhaps he had), Cas finally pressed his mouth to Dean's. The kiss was gentle, lingering, and he released Dean's arms to cup his face.

Freed, Dean quickly changed the gentle nature of the kiss. He ran his hands through the angel's hair and pulled him closer to himself, kissing him desperately. Years of pent up emotion were finally being released as he groaned slightly into Cas's lips. He felt the man smile against his.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a key being turned in the motel room door. With a sound like a bird taking off, Cas disappeared, leaving Dean flushed and gasping for air. He sat up and turned away from the door as Sam entered.

"So, I talked to our witness," his brother said, launching into the details of the investigation. Dean tuned him out, focusing on calming his racing heart and trying to regain composure.

Sam paused. "Dean? You okay?"

"Fine," Dean managed. He still felt Cas's lips on his. "I'm gonna grab some sleep."

"It's four in the afternoon. You haven't even had dinner."

"I'm just taking a nap."

"You okay?"

"Dammit, Sammy, just let me sleep!"

Sam snorted. "Fine. Jeez."

As Dean slid under the covers, he knew that he wouldn't sleep. He stared at the wall, the memory of two dark eyes burned into his vision.


	2. And Yet, They Noticed

She was only a teenager, and yet, she noticed. As she wiped down the counter of her mother's diner, she watched as a man in a trench coat slide into the seat next to the man with the short hair. She eyed them curiously as their hands twined together under the table, the man with the short hair never pausing in conversation with the man with the long hair.

Her mother called for her help in the kitchen, and with one last glance over her shoulder at the couple, the teenager exited the diner's main area.

He was only a little boy, and yet, he noticed. As he lagged behind his family, he watched, not quite understanding, as the man with the bowlegged walk press himself so close to the trench coated man that the police officer they were talking to couldn't see him rest a hand on the small of his back.

His father yelled angrily for him to catch up and the little boy obliged, still not fully comprehending what he had witnessed.

She was only an old woman, and yet she noticed. As the trio of bruised, bloodied men staggered into her pharmacy for bandages, she saw how the trench coated man and the man with the bright green eyes leaned into each other without seeming to even realize they were doing it.

She rang up their products, accepted their money, and watched as they left, still maintaining close contact.

He was only a middle aged man, and yet he noticed. As he handed over the room key to a motel room with only two beds, he saw how the man in the trench coat glanced rather hopefully at the man with the light brown hair. Only after the former looked away did the latter lean over and whisper something in his ear. A smile spread over the face of the trench coated man.

Another customer stepped up to the counter, and the man's gaze was torn away from the trio.

He was only the green-eyed man's brother, and yet he noticed. He noticed his brother and the angel gripping hands underneath every diner table. He noticed his brother and the angel touching each other's backs for support as they lied about being from the FBI. He noticed his brother and the angel looking forward to sharing motel beds. He noticed it all.

He was only the green-eyed man's brother, and yet he noticed.


	3. Farewell, Castiel

Sam watched Dean carefully over the pockmarked surface of the motel table. They had returned to the motel twenty minutes ago, and so far, Dean had only spoken to allow Sam to treat his wounds and to tell him that no, he wasn't hungry. Even the offer of pie did nothing to break Dean from his depressed state.

But who could blame him? After what had just happened...Sam himself felt like he was walking through a dream, floating on a cloud - and not in a good way at all.

Blood...there had been so much blood. But wasn't there always?

But not his blood. There was never supposed to be so much of Castiel's blood.

Sam remembered the way Cas had just been torn apart, killed as if he was a paper doll. He remembered Dean's horrified screams, his own sudden, fluid mercilessness as he killed the bastard that had ended his friend's life.

"Dean," Sam tried one last time, to no avail. Finally, an idea occurred to him.

"Do you remember, when we first met him, we thought he was some all-powerful angel? And then, as we got to know him, he just seemed like this clueless little puppy sometimes?"

Dean pressed his lips together, green eyes filling with tears.

"He really liked animals."

Dean smiled slightly. "That thing with the hamster. And the cat." His voice was shaky and deeper than usual, but Sam's heart lifted. At least he was speaking now.

"Yeah, that was funny." Sam smiled crookedly. "Hell, he didn't even know what porn was!"

"I tried to take him to get laid one time," Dean recalled. "He told the prostitute that her dad abandoning her wasn't her fault and she screamed at us until security came."

Sam chuckled. "Sounds like Cas."

"Yeah." Dean stared at the beer he wasn't drinking and finally placed it down and stood. He ran a hand over his face, which only succeeded in smearing his unshed tears down his cheeks. He walked over to the window and stared out over the mostly empty motel parking lot.

"It hurts, Sammy," he whispered, and Sam heard such true pain in his older brother's voice that his own heart aches. "It hurts so bad."

"I know. And I also know there's nothing I can say to make it better," Sam told him softly.

Dean just shook his head, the motion getting more and more violent. "Why me?" he asked, and Sam knew Dean was no longer speaking to him. "Why me?"

"Dean - "

"I loved him, Sam."

This stopped Sam in his tracks.

"I didn't love him like a brother or a friend or any of that crap. _I loved him_. And now he's gone."

Sam felt tears rising in his own eyes. _Oh, Dean_. He remembered how unstable he had been after Jess had died and took a deep breath.

"I think he felt the same way about you," he said as gently as possible, standing and walking over to his brother.

Dean turned back to him, shoulders shaking, and Sam saw that he was crying in earnest now, thick tears rolling down his face. "He died like a hunter," he whispered thickly. "He didn't deserve to die like a hunter."

With that, Dean pressed himself against Sam and surrendered to his sorrow. Sam knew he could do nothing. He merely held his older brother as he wept, and stared out of the window, fury rising within him. He found himself asking the same question Dean had - _why him? Why Dean?_

Already, the brothers had lost so much, and Sam knew the losses would never stop. They were hunters. Loss was something they had to cope with.

But Dean shouldn't have had to tell Sam about his love for Cas. Not like this, anyhow. There should have been gentler discussions ending with happiness rather than tears.

But a hunter's death had been Castiel's fate. And now Sam held Dean in his arms, feeling like the older brother for once as his brother sobbed.


	4. The Reveal

A knock sounded on the door. Glancing over his shoulder, Dean Winchester stood up from where he had been channel surfing on the couch and rushed to open the door. His heart lifted at the sight of Castiel.

Glancing over his shoulder once more, he kissed Cas quickly before grabbing his hand and pulling him into the motel room.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said formally. Dean smiled fondly.

"The kiss _was_ hello, Cas," he explained.

"Oh." They had only been officially (yet secretly) dating for two weeks and Cas was still getting used to it all. He was a fast learner, though.

Sam walked in. "Oh, hey, Cas," he said, obviously surprised. "Um, is there a problem?"

"No," Cas said smoothly. "I thought I'd just come over to...hang out."

Sam's eyebrows raised and he turned away, struggling to hold back a grin. He walked into the kitchenette. "I'm making coffee. Want some?" he called over his shoulder.

"Aren't you going to sleep, dude?" Dean asked, hoping to God that his brother would turn in for the night.

"Aren't you?"

"Um, there's a show coming on later that I want to see. Then I'll sleep." Dean tried to smile convincingly. _Just go to sleep, dammit_!

Sam hesitated. Finally, to Dean's relief, he shrugged and said, "Sure, coffee can wait." He turned and walked back into his bedroom, closing the door.

"What show is it, Dean?" Cas asked, and Dean had to run a hand over his face to keep from bursting out in laughter.

Yawning, Dean woke up slowly. He went to stretch but suddenly stopped, not wanting to disturb the sleeping angel in his arms.

He and Castiel were tucked under a blanket. Cas was curled up on the couch, leaning into Dean as he slept. The television was off and Dean vaguely remembered turning it off as he and Cas chatted. Then Cas had gotten sleepy and fallen asleep and eventually, so had Dean.

His boyfriend's breathing was slow and rhythmical. It stirred his shirt slightly, and Dean pressed his lips to Cas's forehead. Then he rested his head on top of Cas's, feeling that all was right with the world.

 _What time is it_? he suddenly thought in a panic, realizing that any minute now, Sam could wake up and walk out of his bedroom to see his older brother cuddling with an angel.

He twisted around to read the time on the kitchenette's stove, but his view was blocked by...

Sam.

Dean was so surprised that he could only stare at Sam for a few seconds, feeling a blush rising. His brother raised his eyebrows and hid a smile behind a cup of coffee.

"Was the show good?" he whispered teasingly.

Dean thought about pulling away from Cas. About making up some stupid story about how the angel had been having nightmares or something. But in that moment, he realized that he didn't want to. He knew that his brother would support him and would approve of the relationship. He didn't want Cas and him to be a secret anymore.

"Surprised?" he replied quietly and stroked Cas's hair when the angel stirred at the sound of his voice.

"Are you kidding me?" Sam responded. "You guys made me feel inappropriate every time you so much as looked at each other." He took a long sip of coffee as Dean flipped him off, and snorted into the beverage.

Yawning, Cas woke up. "Morning," he said sleepily. He looked so tranquil and peaceful that Dean felt his heart melt.

Then Cas caught sight of Sam. His body stiffened. "Are we still doing the secret thing?" he asked Dean.

"No," Dean assured him.

"Good." Cas burrowed his face into Dean's shirt and dozed off once more. Dean glanced at Sam and shrugged.

"Aww," Sam mouthed, and Dean flipped him off once more for good measure.

"I'll take that coffee now," he whispered, gesturing to the coffee pot and resting his cheek against Castiel's head.


	5. Drawing

Not many knew it, but Castiel was an amazing artist.

He hid it from just about everyone. After all, a supposedly emotionless angel of the lord, drawing his feelings? it embarrassed Castiel to even think about. He was a disgrace already, after all.

So he kept his sketches a secret, especially from the subjects of his art. He rarely drew concept ideas or rare forms of his emotions - he drew people. All of his friends, even a few of his enemies.

But most of all, Dean Winchester.

Page after page of his sketchbook was filled with the hunter. His smirk after he told a joke nobody else understood, his hair right after he had woken up, his eyes after the clues of a case finally linked. His hand as it lifted a beer bottle to his lips, his body as he sat on the hood of the Impala, incredibly detailed sketches of him hugging faceless figures.

Castiel guarded his sketchbook with his life. After all, nobody could know his secret. How often he thought of Dean, how frequently he drew him. The angel had an unhealthy fascination of the hunter and Castiel had no idea why. What could cause such a shameful interest?

He knew of human love, of course. The meaningless emotion that got in the way of nearly everything the creatures did. He, himself, had felt its poisonous effects when Dean or Sam were in a life-or-death situation. But that had been different. He cared for the well-being of both brothers, yes, but his protectiveness of Dean went to a whole new level.

Which was why Castiel had long ago decided that the strange emotion wasn't love. It was something deeper, harder to cope with, and much more shameful. This was why he drew, to express the feeling for Dean as best he could.

Dean and Sam were on a hunt. Castiel was awaiting them in their motel room. They weren't aware of his arrival, but he was sure they would be glad to see him. After all, the boys often returned from fights battered, bleeding, and in need of a good beer. Castiel knew the routine by now. The beers were first and foremost in the fridge and medical supplies were piled on the table.

Glancing around furtively, Castiel reached into his trench coat and pulled out his sketchbook. He opened it to what he had last been working on: a drawing of Dean looking intensely out of the windshield of the Impala, as he did so often. It was the look he got when he was thinking hard about something, or worrying about Sam...or Castiel. The angel hoped.

He sketched for a long time, finally perfecting the picture just as the door flew open. Castiel snapped the sketchbook shut and threw it on the table in front of him, rising in alarm as Dean staggered in, supporting practically the full weight of a quickly fading Sam.

"Goddamned ghouls," Dean cursed, lying Sam down on the floor. Castiel hurried to the table and grabbed whatever medical supplies he laid eyes on until his arms were full. He returned to Dean and dumped the supplies at his side.

Rather than thank the angel, the hunter got right down to work, stripping off his brother's shirt and trying desperately to clean off the blood welling on his stomach. Castiel couldn't blame him. He had lost his brother so many times, in so many different ways, that when Sam was injured, there was no time for small things like manners.

Sam's stomach was slashed. Castiel couldn't tell how deep the wound was because of how profusely it was bleeding. If it wasn't very deep, he wouldn't waste his power on healing it. If it was lethal, then of course he would help his friend.

Finally, Dean cleared enough of the blood away for Castiel to determine that the cut was deep. Scarily so. He bent, pushing Dean out of the way and pressing two fingers to Sam's forehead.

Sam gasped, his pain-filled features smoothing and the cut on his stomach sewing itself back up. He fell into a deep slumber immediately.

"The shirt is ruined, but he'll be all right," Castiel assured Dean, standing and returning the medical supplies to the table.

"Thank you," Dean said, gritting his teeth as he looped his arms under Sam's armpits and pulled him over to the bed. "A little help?"

Castiel strode over and easily lifted Sam onto the bed, turning him onto his uninjured side, as he had frequently observed the hunter sleeping. It wasn't creepy - Castiel often arrived to talk with Dean when his little brother was still fast asleep.

"Again, thanks, Cas," Dean wheezed, clutching his own side.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asked, concerned.

"Fine. Pretty sure the bitch bruised a couple of ribs," Dean choked out. His face was marred by several small cuts.

Just as he had done for Sam, Castiel raised two fingers and fixed the injuries. He felt his powers draining, but he still had more than enough to teleport, or defend himself if need be.

"It is _so_ useful to have you around," Dean commented as he stretched, heading over to the kitchen area. He bent and pulled a beer out of the fridge, holding a second one above his head. "Want one?"

"No," Castiel replied.

"Didn't think so." Dean replaced the drink and walked over to the couch, plopping himself down on it with a satisfied sigh. Castiel realized that he hadn't hidden his sketchbook just as Dean reached out and grabbed it, asking, "Hey, what's this?"

"Don't - " Castiel cried, reaching out for it -

\- But it was too late. Dean was flipping through the pages, his eyes growing wider and wider. "Cas," he breathed, and the angel winced, waiting for the man to tell him he had overstepped his bounds, had to learn about privacy, all the familiar speeches...

"These are amazing, Cas."

Castiel froze. He had been expecting to hear anything but that.

"Like, these are crazy good." Dean whistled as he examined one drawing closely. He raised his eyes to meet Castiel, and the angel felt his heart skip a beat at the awe in them. "Why are they all of me?"

"They're not _all_ of you," Castiel countered weakly. "There are some of Sam and...and Bobby..."

Dean just raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Castiel sighed. "I - I don't know. I can't explain it. I just feel - I don't even know what I feel, but I'm sure it's a disgrace to my name and my status - "

During this ramble, Dean had stood, dropping the sketchbook on the table, and was walking closer to Castiel. Now, suddenly, Dean reached forward, grabbed the back of the angel's head, and kissed him.

Castiel froze. Instinctively, his hands rose to press against Dean's chest, push him away - but instead, he betrayed himself, his arms rising to wrap around the hunter's neck as he kissed him back passionately.

Dean ran his hands through Castiel's hair and the angel shivered. Dean made a small noise in the back of his throat and pressed their bodies closer together.

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke apart, both men gasping for air. Castiel raised a hand and pressed it over his mouth, feeling his cheeks flushing deeply. His eyes rose to meet Dean's, who looked just as shocked at what he had just done.

"I was wrong," the angel said softly.

"What?" Dean asked, confused, still breathing heavily.

Castield smiled slightly, although it was obscured by his hand. "It is love," he said simply.


	6. Carry On

Dean had been right, of course. He had always been right, as much as he hated it. He and Sammy would never live to be old.

He had expected to die in some horrible, painful way. And sure, for a split second, being shot in the head had been some of the worst pain Dean had ever known. But now that it was over, Dean couldn't understand why it was such a big deal. Why death was such a big deal. It was just like falling asleep and waking back up again.

He was still dressed in his jeans and plaid shirt. The rips and bloodstains were gone.

He was driving, though. That was strange, especially seeing as he didn't have to think about it. He was free to look around, fiddle with the radio, even close his eyes, and the car kept steadily onward.

Dean recognized the road, of course. Why wouldn't he? How couldn't he? It had been so long, but he had never forgotten it. Would never forget it.

It was a bit sad, to die before his fortieth birthday. He had been lulled into a false sense of security. After all, he had died so many times. He had been beaten over and over, and still, somehow, he always stood back up. But somehow, Dean knew that this time wasn't like the rest. He wasn't going to wake up. Sammy hadn't - why should he?

That was another strange thing - the pain, the constant pain that had followed Sammy's death, was gone. Dean felt lighter than air upon realizing this. Ever since that ghost had ripped Sam apart while Dean warded off another one in the next room over, Dean had hated himself. Hated the world. Cas's occasional visits were the only times he felt anything resembling happiness, and Cas's visits were only to stop him from selling his soul to the first demon who would listen in exchange for his baby brother.

Not that he would have had ten more years until the contract was up. It had been three months ago. Lucky Castiel was there to stop him because a contract was hardly worth it in that amount of time.

The house was on the horizon, fast approaching. Without Dean doing a thing, the car picked up speed. As he got nearer to the house, _his_ house, he saw figures in the yard. And very quickly, he recognized who they were.

The car stopped in the middle of the road. Not that it mattered. As soon as Dean climbed out, the Impala vanished, only to reappear in the house's driveway.

His father stood, an arm slung around his mother's shoulders. He smiled kindly at his oldest son. "I'm proud of you, Dean," he said softly. "Real proud." In that instant, Dean saw the father that his dad would have been, had his mother not burned on the ceiling all those decades ago. Instead of feeling regret or injustice at his loss, however, he simply felt pride that his father had finally complemented him.

Bobby slouched near them, a beer in hand. He raised it to his lips, arching his eyebrows, and Dean merely smiled.

Sam was standing there, leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. "Everyone else is inside," he told Dean, and a list of people instantly flashed through Dean's mind. By the ecstatic grin on Sammy's face, he could guess at least one of the people inside was Jessica Moore.

And then there was Cas. Cas, with his wings huge and occasionally fluttering gently. Cas, in that stupid trenchcoat that Dean loved so much.

Dean felt tears welling to his eyes. "Oh, God," he said, wiping frantically at them, but not feeling as embarrassed as he would have. He knew that he could cry here, especially because these were tears of joy.

"I'm gonna go inside and tell everyone you're here," Sam said gently, turning and gesturing for his parents and Bobby to follow. They did so, glancing knowingly over their shoulders at Castiel and Dean as they went.

Cas made the first move. He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against Dean's. "I missed you," he whispered after he pulled away.

"You've seen me a lot over the past few months," Dean pointed out, feeling woozy from the kiss.

"That wasn't you. I've missed the real you," Cas said simply, and Dean knew what he was talking about. This time, he made the move, pressing his mouth against Cas's, running his hands through his hair. Finally, he could be truly happy. Finally, he could be who he was.

Dean heard a cheer and broke away from Castiel to see what the commotion was. As the angel wrapped his arms around Dean much as John Winchester had been doing to Mary, Dean watched as countless people poured out of the house. Sure enough, Jessica Moore was glued to Sam's side. Bobby was talking with two little girls, twins. Victims that Dean had been unable to save, friends who had died on his watch...so many people that he had let down, all happy and glad to see him. Happy for him. Proud of him.

Somehow, Dean knew his work was done. He didn't have to return to Earth again. He had contributed enough. Now, it was his turn to relax and rest. His entire life, he had been running from the monsters, both external and in his own mind. With the monsters gone, he could truly be happy.

Dean grabbed Castiel's hand and walked through the crowd of people to the front door of his house. Turning, he looked back over all of these people that he loved, and then over at the angel who he had fallen in love with so quickly.

He turned his head and walked inside.

 _Carry on my wayward son,_

 _for there'll be peace when you are done._

 _Lay your weary head to rest,_

 _now don't you cry no more._


	7. Goodbye NOT A STORY

Well, this is it - goodbye.

I'm officially moving over to Ao3, which, if you didn't know, is Archive of our Own, a fanfiction website that (I'm sorry to say) has a little more prestige than . Don't get me wrong - I've loved writing here, but I want to experiment with Ao3 as well. I have researched the pros and cons to both websites and may still use this one to read occasionally, but I've already discovered better fanfics over there in a shorter amount of time than over here.

If you want to check me out on Ao3, my username is livin_in_my_head_2.

And who knows? Maybe Ao3 won't work out and I'll be back here in a few weeks. For now, however, just assume that this account will be going mostly dormant. Thank you so so so so much to anyone who has ever supported this book, and I hope that you continue to explore fanfiction and maybe write some of your own!


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